


Try a Little Tenderness

by fearfully_beautifully_made



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Bottom Sherlock Holmes, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Forgiveness, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Overdue conversations, Sweet, These two are just so in love, Top John Watson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-06
Updated: 2017-03-21
Packaged: 2018-09-28 17:34:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10141790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fearfully_beautifully_made/pseuds/fearfully_beautifully_made
Summary: John comes home from a rough day at the clinic and Sherlock is determined to give him what he needs to feel better.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello darling readers,
> 
> This work is really just soft and sweet. I'm currently working on two longer works (neither has been uploaded here yet) which are heavy and have a fair amount of angst and I just needed to write something in a happy place.
> 
> As always, I own nothing and make no profit from these works. One other disclaimer, I am terrible at tagging and terrible at making titles. If something should be added as far as tags go, please feel free to leave me a comment. (Or feel free to leave me a comment for any other reason, they make my heart happy!)
> 
> I hope you enjoy this little fic!

_Sherlock_

Sherlock was in the kitchen when he heard the door downstairs open and close again, he glanced at the clock and couldn’t help but smile to himself. John was home. He’d had a productive day while John was at the clinic; he and Rosie had played and gone to the park and he’d managed to finish a couple of experiments that had been waiting for him, lately he’d been far too distracted by John to get any tangible work done on his experiments.

But it couldn't be helped, everything about John fascinated him; it was a strange phenomena, everything was the same as it had always been and yet everything felt new and different simply because the physical nature of their relationship had changed. He’d dedicated hours of his life to mapping out every inch of John’s body by touch and by sight and by taste. He’d been completely intoxicated by everything that John was.

Furthermore, he was surprised to find that his mind felt better and more settled now that they’d established what they were to each other. John had told him he loved him, that he had for years, and a great deal of anxiety over John’s place in his life and the time he planned to spend with Sherlock had unwound from his chest. It had been incredibly freeing to know that John loved him as much as he loved John.

The culmination of their relationship had been more incredible than Sherlock could have ever imagined and had worked out fairly well on a practical level in that John could now share a room with him instead of a two year old who was a very light sleeper. John had slept on the couch as often as not before the two of them had gotten together purely because he didn’t want to go upstairs and risk waking up the sleeping toddler.

As John’s feet started climbing the stairs Sherlock could tell by how slowly he was moving that he had had a difficult day at the clinic. It was hard to deduce without seeing him exactly what had gone wrong, but it was neither here nor there at the moment. Sherlock busied himself with tying up the loose ends on his experiment so he could get back to it later.

Sherlock was glad he had just put Rosie down for her nap not fifteen minutes ago, it meant they had an entire hour before she woke up again. Possibly an hour and a half since she and Sherlock had spent a good portion of the morning outdoors walking and playing at the park. Hopefully it would give John a little peace and a little time to process whatever was distressing him.

John came through the door but didn’t say a word, which in and of itself was rather atypical. He always said hello to Sherlock when he came in. But a moment later his arms were slipping around Sherlock’s shoulders and his nose was pressing into Sherlock’s curls and Sherlock let himself sink back into John’s arms, reaching up and rubbing his thumb along John’s forearm where it was crossed over his chest.

After a few minutes of silence John murmured, “Where’s Rosie?” his breath tickled the hairs at the back of Sherlock’s neck and gave him a chill.

“I just put her down for her nap.”

John was quiet for another moment and Sherlock willed himself to be the same, to wait and let John tell him what he needed, to wait and let John set the pace.

“Will you come to bed?”

That was not the question Sherlock had been anticipating, least of all at 4 in the afternoon, but he nodded nonetheless. John stepped back a bit but reached out and took Sherlock’s hand in his as though he couldn’t bear not to be touching him. Without another word, he picked up the baby monitor off of the kitchen table and drew Sherlock into the bedroom and closed the door behind them with a soft click.

He set the baby monitor on the night stand then turned to face Sherlock. He took Sherlock’s face in his palms and stroked his cheekbones and forehead lightly, almost reverently before he drew Sherlock’s lips to his. Sherlock shuddered at the way he kissed him; his lips soft and warm, his hands cradling his face as John’s lips moved over his like he was something precious, something cherished.

“I love you,” John breathed against Sherlock’s lips.

“I love you, too,” Sherlock replied feeling a bit breathless with sentiment in spite of the confusion that nagged at the back of his mind; he wasn’t quite sure what could have happened at John’s work today to bring on this sort of devotion.

John stroked his thumb along Sherlock’s cheek again and pressed one more soft kiss to his lips before drawing back slightly to unbutton Sherlock’s shirt. He did it painstakingly slowly, starting by pressing a kiss to Sherlock’s suprasternal notch and moving to trace the path his fingers took with his lips and tongue. Sherlock felt gooseflesh rise on his skin and shuddered under John’s gentle touch.

When John had finished all of the buttons he slowly slid the shirt off Sherlock's shoulders, pressing kisses across his collarbone along the way. Then John leaned back slightly and trailed his fingertips over Sherlock’s shoulders and down his arms, taking his hands and bringing them one at a time to his lips to press kisses to Sherlock’s knuckles, maintaining eye contact the entire time.

After a moment, John knelt at his feet; keeping his eyes locked on Sherlock's, gazing at him with such an abundance of unguarded affection and tenderness that Sherlock couldn’t fathom how he earned it. He reached down and slipped off Sherlock’s socks before running his hands up Sherlock’s legs, rubbing his thighs before coming to the button and zipper on Sherlock's trousers. “Alright?” John asked softly.

Sherlock nodded groggily, he couldn’t imagine a time when it would not be better than alright for John to take his trousers off.

John pressed a kiss to his fabric covered hip before his hands set to work at Sherlock’s flies. He unzipped and unbuttoned his trousers with the same careful reverence he had used when he was undoing his dress shirt and Sherlock couldn’t help but watch in rapt fascination at this display of affection.

John reached up and took Sherlock’s hands in his, moving them to his shoulders to steady him while he slid the trousers down Sherlock’s legs and prompted him to step out of them. When Sherlock stood completely bare before him, John pressed a few soft kisses to his hipbones and to his abdomen before rising once more and cradling Sherlock’s face in his palms again, drawing him forward into another kiss.

While they kissed John guided Sherlock backwards and laid him out across their bed. He pulled back and stroked his hands reverently over Sherlock’s body; brushing them lightly along his skin and leaving tingling trails of light in his wake. Sherlock’s back arched and he felt all of the tension flow out of his body as John touched him. He felt as though his body was expanding and flowing out of itself, going loose and pliant under John’s careful touch.

After a moment, John stepped back from the bed and stripped out of his own jumper, his trousers, and pants without a care before climbing onto the bed where he straddled Sherlock’s hips and brought their lips together once more. He slid their mouths together slowly and achingly sweetly.

His chest ached with affection for this man and as they kissed, Sherlock almost felt as though John were trying to give him a piece of himself. It didn’t make any sense logically but he couldn’t escape the feeling of being given a rare and precious gift as he kissed John and felt John’s skin melding with his own.

John pressed one last, lingering kiss to his lips before moving to the foot of the bed. John rubbed his thumbs over the arches of Sherlock’s long, bony feet and Sherlock’s back arched off the bed at how good that felt. A soft, whimpering moan escaped his lips and his toes flexed and relaxed a bit. John leaned forward as he massaged at Sherlock’s arches and the balls of his feet and pressed soft kisses to the toes there before tracing the path his fingers had taken with his lips.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, behind all of the pleasure and behind all of the delight at being touched this way, Sherlock wasn’t entirely sure how he was meant to be responding to this, was he meant to talk? Was he meant to tell John how mind blowingly fantastic the way he was touching him felt? Was he meant to be reciprocating? His lack complete lack of practical knowledge where relationships were concerned constantly left him wondering if he was doing everything right.

John massaged his calfs with his strong fingers and Sherlock stopped wondering and groaned softly. John placed what seemed to be an encouraging kiss on the inside of his knee before kissing along his tibia on his left leg, then tracing the same path on the right. As he finished kissing Sherlock’s right tibia his hands moved up and slid along Sherlock’s thighs, digging into the muscles there and causing Sherlock to groan again.

Then John switched tracks and he moved back to the top of the bed, pressing one sweet kiss to Sherlock’s lips before pressing kisses to his shoulder and trailing them down his arm. He lingered for a moment at the crook of Sherlock’s elbow and Sherlock’s breath hitched as he teased that sensitive skin. John continued the path his lips had begun, trailing them down Sherlock’s forearm to his fingers where he paused to press a kiss against each fingertip and then his knuckles.

He switched sides and repeated the same process with the other arm; Sherlock’s head felt like it had completely disconnected from his body. He felt light and floaty and almost giddy with how cherished he felt.

John moved once again and pressed a tender kiss to Sherlock’s chest right over the scar from where the bullet had penetrated his chest. John leaned his forehead against the center of Sherlock’s chest and Sherlock’s hands came up to stroke the hair at the nape of John’s neck of their own accord. They stayed that way for a long moment before John let out a shuddering exhale against his chest and slid back up Sherlock’s body to press their lips together once again.

His fingers stroked along Sherlock’s face as though he were a blind man trying to memorize Braille before sliding further back and stroking through Sherlock’s curls, rubbing at his scalp. Sherlock let out a soft contented sigh against John’s lips.

John pulled back a bit and Sherlock had to fight the impulse to chase his lips. He pressed kisses along Sherlock’s cheeks and pecked a kiss on Sherlock’s chin before brushing light kisses against Sherlock’s closed eyelids. When he pulled back, Sherlock’s eyelids fluttered open to look at John. He was not prepared for what he saw.

John was watching him intently, unguarded affection still clear on his face but he also had tears in his eyes and tears glistenining down his cheeks.

“John?” Sherlock asked, starting to feel a bit alarmed, what had seemed like it might just have been a very intense session of afternoon love making full of devotion and softness, perhaps just a way for John to wash away a bad day, suddenly seemed like it might be something much more. “What’s wrong?” Sherlock asked softly as he reached up to cup John’s face in his palms and wipe away the tears.

John turned his head and pressed his lips to Sherlock’s palm, closing his eyes and inhaling deeply. “Please,” he whispered, turning his eyes onto Sherlock again. They were piercing in a way that Sherlock had never experienced before, as though John were trying to peel back Sherlock’s skin and make a home inside of his very soul for himself.

Sherlock nodded slowly, not entirely sure what he was agreeing to, but knowing he would never deny John anything. He belonged to him mind, body, and soul anyway.

John let out a shuddering exhale as though it wasn’t what he’d been expecting Sherlock to say. And maybe it hadn’t been. Sherlock had never been very good at just leaving something alone when he was asked; his mind always wanted to solve the puzzle.

John leaned forward once more and pressed a kiss to Sherlock’s forehead, “Thank you,” he breathed. He pressed light, barely there kisses along Sherlock’s forehead and cheeks, pausing for an extra second when he reached his temple.

Sherlock let himself relax into John’s caresses and kisses once more, he let himself float along as John paid attention to Sherlock’s every feature. When he was satisfied he nudged Sherlock over onto his stomach and traced his fingers feather-light along the scars that marred Sherlock’s back. Sherlock shuddered under the touch, he hadn’t been sure that John wouldn’t find them hideous the first time they’d been intimate. John had assured him then that he could never find a single part of Sherlock anything but beautiful but his words had been nothing compared to the tender, reverent way he moved his hands across Sherlock’s scarred skin now.

His fingers traced every line and then his lips did the same. Sherlock’s entire body felt like it was tingling, he felt warm and light all over and irrationally he felt like his skin might be glowing.

“Sherlock,” John breathed when he’d slid back up so he could breathe in the scent at the nape of Sherlock’s neck and press kisses to the skin there. His body pressed against every inch of Sherlock that he could reach and Sherlock felt warm and treasured beyond anything he could ever have imagined. “I love you,” John murmured against his skin.

“I love you, too,” Sherlock said, his voice coming out low and gravelly and a bit more slurred than he’d anticipated.

John hummed softly and his hands stroked along his sides; his fingers brushed over his rib cage before sliding back up and stroking along Sherlock’s arms that were resting over his head to give John adequate room to maneuver.

Then John moved again and Sherlock almost whimpered at the loss of his warmth, at the departure of his skin and the feeling of closeness. But then his hands were sliding lower, gliding over his hips and rubbing at the backs of his thighs before smoothing over his buttocks.

Then John’s finger’s slipped between his cheeks and Sherlock did whimper, his legs spreading themselves further of their own accord. His fingers brushed over Sherlock’s hole and Sherlock gasped, pressing into John’s hand in spite of his attempts at staying still, in spite of his desire to be still and let John take what he needed. He’d give him anything, anything he wanted.

John leaned forward and pressed a kiss against Sherlock’s shoulder as he reached for the drawer where they stored the lube and the condoms. He pulled out the lube and Sherlock heard him uncap it and a moment later his slicked fingers were back at Sherlock’s entrance. John remained hovering over Sherlock’s body, pressing kisses to his neck and shoulders but he began rubbing his fingers around that puckered bit of flesh, just rubbing it, relaxing Sherlock without attempting to breach him.

When Sherlock could barely stand laying still and keeping himself from wiggling and pressing back against John’s fingers, John finally pressed inexorably slowly into his body. He pressed in and slowly pulled back out again, breathing Sherlock’s name once more as Sherlock’s body relaxed against the intrusion. He continued on like this, gently pressing his finger into Sherlock’s body over and over, circling the rim and stroking along Sherlock’s inner walls.

Some amount of time later, it could have been minutes or could have been hours for all Sherlock knew, John eased a second finger inside of Sherlock’s body and brushed his fingers over Sherlock’s prostate. Sherlock let out a gurgling sort of groan and his hips tilted themselves back toward John’s fingers and his legs fell further open. “Perfect,” John murmured, his lips still pressed to the nape of Sherlock’s neck.

He continued to press his fingers into Sherlock’s body and draw them out again, over and over until Sherlock’s fingers had clenched in the sheets and he was sweating from the mammoth amount of energy it required to not thrust back onto John’s fingers. Then John pressed a third finger in alongside the other two and Sherlock moaned.

The third finger didn’t take quite so long, it seemed. John was withdrawing them soon enough and Sherlock heard the snick of the lube bottle being uncapped again. “I need to feel you,” John whispered softly, his voice sounding desperate and broken. “Please, Sherlock.” John pressed his forehead to the center of Sherlock’s back, “Please. I just can’t bear the thought of there being something between us. Please.”

“Yes,” Sherlock moaned, he’d been begging John for weeks to do it without the condom. He desperately wanted to know what John’s cock felt like inside of him; he wanted to feel him come, he wanted to be able to clench around him without anything in between. But they’d been waiting for the tests to come back just to be sure they were both clean, reasoning that Sherlock had taken drugs since the last time he’d been tested (even though he’d been very careful and Billy had only used sterile needles) and John had had sex since the last time he’d been tested (even though he’d worn protection.) “Yes,” Sherlock begged. “John, yes.”

“You’re perfect,” John said softly, “I love you.”

Sherlock would have replied, he would have. He was very conscientious about returning John’s sentiment; he’d been nervous that he wouldn’t be able to properly articulate his feelings for John in a suitable manner. He worked diligently at it, even though John told him he didn’t have to try so hard. So he would have told John he loved him too, because he did. He loved John Watson with every fiber of his being and would say it a million times a day if that was what John required to know it was true. He would have said it back were it not for the fact that at the very moment he took a breath to return the sentiment John pressed his bare cock to Sherlock’s entrance and the entire world seemed to stop spinning.

Sherlock’s breath froze in his lungs and if he’d thought his head had been floaty before, he was entirely unprepared for the way his entire body seemed to be completely weightless now, tethered to earth only by the entity that was John Watson.

“Yes?” John asked softly, conscientious of Sherlock’s needs and feelings as ever.

“Yes. Please, John. Always, yes.”

John kissed the back of his neck again and pressed forward slowly, stretching Sherlock around his length and his girth. It always felt incredible, always, but never the way it did right now. Everything narrowed into this one point of contact to this one place where the two of them joined together and became one entity.

John pressed forward, forward, forward and it seemed to go on forever; it went for so long that Sherlock started to wonder if he had perhaps found some way to meld the two of them into one.

“Shh,” John murmured against Sherlock’s skin, stroking Sherlock’s arms soothingly and running his fingers through his hair. It was only then that Sherlock realized he'd been making inhuman wailing noises that were escaping his throat at an obscenely loud volume. “Please don’t wake Rosie.”

Sherlock nodded, “Sorry,” he groaned as John pressed forward a bit more, “Sorry.”

“S’alright,” John murmured pressing in even further and finally Sherlock felt his hips come flush against his bottom.

“Oh,” Sherlock breathed, suddenly his chest felt a bit too tight and his eyes were stinging a bit as he fought to take a deep enough breath and push back his own tears.

Then John was pulling out and Sherlock thought he might cry for a different reason entirely, he whimpered at the loss and John hummed at him, rolling him over onto his back. “Sorry, love, I just need to see you.”

Sherlock immediately reached up and latched his arms around John’s neck and locked his legs around John’s waist. He tilted his head up and caught John’s lips in a kiss as John began to press back inside of him.

And the stretch and feeling of fullness was just as acute and intense as it had been when John was entering him from behind. Perhaps even more so now that Sherlock could touch and kiss John back.

When John was fully seated once more he dropped his head to the crook between Sherlock’s shoulder and neck and they just stayed that way for a moment. Neither of them could move or speak; they just took a moment and breathed in one another’s scents and took in the new and incredible feeling of sharing this with each other.

“You’re amazing,” John whispered into Sherlock’s skin and Sherlock tightened his arms around John’s shoulders in response. He found that his voice had been swept away in the flood of sentiment racing through his veins.

John pulled back slightly and slid his arms under Sherlock's shoulders, drawing Sherlock closer to himself before leaning down and pressing a soft kiss to his lips as his hips began rocking in and out softly. “You feel incredible,” he murmured, drawing his hips back and sliding slowly back in.

He was so careful pulling out, so unbearably gentle that it made Sherlock’s heart ache with tenderness. There was no pain, hardly any sensation at all when he drew back, the effect was that it felt as though he was just pressing in deeper and deeper every time he thrust forward. “John,” Sherlock whimpered.

John leaned in and kissed him again, as his hips started to thrust a bit more quickly. John reached down and untangled Sherlock’s legs from around his back, drawing one leg over his shoulder and pressing in again. Sherlock arched his back as John brushed against his prostate and sensation sparked through his body. His fingers clawed at John’s shoulders and his jaw dropped open at how incredible it felt.

“There it is,” John said with a small grin, he then proceeded to relentlessly grind his cock against that sensitive bundle of nerves that set every neuron in Sherlock’s brain alight with sensation.

“Oh, yes,” Sherlock gasped. “Fuck, John. Right there.”

John turned his head and pressed a kiss to the inside of Sherlock’s knee, continuing to thrust inside of Sherlock’s body and press against his prostate. Sherlock could feel his cock leaking copiously onto his belly, rubbing against John’s abdomen when John moved just right. He realized rather suddenly that he was close to the edge. “John,” he murmured, surprised by the edge of panic in his voice.

“Yeah?” John asked, his hips continuing to work in and out of Sherlock’s body.

“Are you close?”

“Are you?” John asked, nudging Sherlock's prostate again.

“Yes,” Sherlock panted, “So close. Please tell me you’re close.”

“I’m close,” John replied dutifully.

But he wasn’t as close as Sherlock wanted him to be, he definitely wasn’t as close as Sherlock was. Sherlock began clenching and unclenching his muscles around John’s cock, working him steadily as he rocked in and out of Sherlock’s body and within a minute John hips had started pistoning in and out of Sherlock’s body leaving Sherlock crying out hoarsely every time he pressed in. “Yes,” Sherlock cried as John’s cock jabbed his prostate particularly strongly on one thrust. “Please, oh please. John, please,” he babbled, begging.

John brought his hand to Sherlock’s cock and with two strokes, Sherlock was coming, clamping around John’s cock and arching up off the bed and into John’s body.

John groaned and his orgasm washed over him, pouring into Sherlock’s body as his hips thrust feebly a few more times. John pulled Sherlock’s leg down off his shoulder but otherwise made no move to detangle the two of them. He flopped down on Sherlock and Sherlock wrapped John in his arms, tears flooded his eyes and he stroked John’s hair gently.

“I love you,” John whispered, pressing his nose into Sherlock’s neck and Sherlock thought he could feel tears on his eyelashes as they brushed against his skin. “I love you so much, Sherlock.”

“I love you, too.”

They were quiet for a few minutes, just recouping and trying to come down from how intense that had been. Finally, when their breathing had evened out and their hearts weren't pounding in their chests, Sherlock nudged John over a bit. “Come on,” he said softly. “Let’s take a shower before Rosie wakes up.”

John groaned and shook his head, “I’m never moving again.”

Sherlock pressed a kiss to John’s temple, “Come on, you can tell me about your day while I wash your hair.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The comments that have been left on this work have left my heart feeling warm and delighted; thank you from the very depths of my heart for your kind words, I am so humbled and grateful. 
> 
> I'm so sorry for the terrible delay in posting the second chapter. I've had 75 hour work weeks for the past two weeks and have caught a nasty upper respiratory infection so needless to say I haven't been much up to editing. 
> 
> Enjoy!

_John_

John had had a truly horrible day; his afternoon with Sherlock had made it somewhat better he had to admit. He truly loved his mad genius who kept his life exciting and gave him purpose and meaning.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Sherlock asked softly, his hands coming up and rubbing at John’s tense shoulders as John reached in and adjusted the temperature of the shower.

John shook his head, he didn’t really want to talk about it but he knew he needed to, knew it would help to hear it out loud and force him to process what he was feeling. “Deduce it?” he asked softly as he climbed into the shower and pulled Sherlock in after him.

Sherlock looked him up and down as though he wasn’t entirely sure John was serious, and then he started to speak, “You had a difficult patient today.” Sherlock said. John turned to look at him, all of his focus back on Sherlock. “Lots of people in with allergies but there was someone who was hard for you to see.”

Sherlock narrowed his eyes as he took in John’s posture and expression. John switched their positions and grabbed the shampoo off the rack. He worked it into a lather and started rubbing it through Sherlock’s curls; scratching lightly at his scalp and rubbing the silky, wet strands between his fingers. It made him feel marginally better to have something to do with his hands, something to help him pull the focus away from the day. Sherlock glanced back at John over his shoulder and then continued his deductions as John shielded Sherlock's eyes and rinsed the suds from his hair.

“It must have been someone young, they’re always harder for you; someone who made you think of someone you love. Harry, perhaps? It’s in the way you’ve held me today as though I was something precious, in your wanting to slow down.” Sherlock turned back around and tilted his head and studied John a moment longer, his arms wrapped around John’s back so his hands could sluice up and down John’s spine as he thought about the observable data at hand. “You smell like the type of soap you have to use when you’ve had to do a surgery or something with a good deal of blood. Usually you’re elated when you’ve had days with trauma and rushing around and saving people. So someone died?”

“No one died, but You aren't too far off," John said softly, pressing his nose into Sherlock’s neck. “Especially for how little data you had. He was young, fifteen years old,” he murmured. Remembering the boy whose mother had dragged him into the office with the suspicion that her son had a head cold. “She thought he had the flu. I had her go out and finish some paperwork and then asked him what drugs he was on.”

The boy had tried to lie and tell him he wasn’t on drugs, his dark hair had fallen over his eyes as he’d glared defiantly at John and told him he just had a stupid cold. “I made him roll up his sleeves, his arms were covered in bruises from needles and lines from where he’d cut himself to shreds with a razor.” John shuddered at the image. “He was just a kid. He felt so alone, felt like he had nowhere to go and no one to turn to. Do you know what he said to me?”

Sherlock shook his head, and John felt his wet curls spray a bit of water on him. Sherlock held him a bit tighter and John leaned forward to lean his cheek against Sherlock’s shoulder and sighed into his skin, “He just wanted to be himself, he said, he was was so sick of normal, so tired of people’s narrow minds defining who he was supposed to be. He told me he wanted to fast forward past this part of his life to the part where he got to be who he really was, to where he got to live the life he was meant to live.”

With a fortifying breath John drew back from where he’d been resting against Sherlock's shoulder so he could look Sherlock in the eyes, “It wasn’t Harry that the boy made me think of, it was you.”

“John,” Sherlock began clearly a bit at a loss for words.

But John was not at a loss for words, quite the opposite in fact; now that he’d started it seemed that he couldn’t quite stop. “It reminded me of when I got married and you started doing drugs, of when I told you it was your fault that Mary was dead and you started doing drugs. It was the look on your face when I beat the shit out of you after you came back from the dead for me. It was the look in your eyes and the sound of your voice when you said it was my right to hurt you because you’d killed my wife. It was the myriad of ways that I have tortured you, the ways that I haven’t tried to understand you; it was the way that I just wanted to be _normal._ I’m sorry.” John murmured softly, tears filling his eyes as he pressed kisses to Sherlock’s neck and collarbone. “I’m so sorry.”

“John,” Sherlock whispered, “Stop, look at me.”

John buried his face further in Sherlock’s neck, refusing to look at the man whom he loved more that life itself but had undoubtedly hurt more than words could express.

“John Hamish Watson, you look at me right now,” Sherlock chastised, drawing back and forcing John away from his body. “You didn’t make me take drugs, it was for a case,” he said in exasperation. “And yes, I can tell you it broke my heart when you got married, it was the hardest thing I had ever endured up to that point. And yes, it devastated me when you blamed me for Mary’s death but I blamed myself more than you did, I still do,” Sherlock said softly. “But this is who we are, we are so much stronger than this. Look at all of the things we’ve been through, look at all that we have accomplished, look at all we have overcome. There is nothing that we can’t overcome when you look at all that we’ve already fought through.”

Sherlock pressed his lips to John’s and John felt himself melt against Sherlock, absorbing his forgiveness and absolution that had always been there but had somehow needed to be expressed in words for it to feel like they had closure from the horrible things that had happened.

When Sherlock pulled back he rested his forehead against John’s, “We got to that part, the one that the boy wants to be at so badly. We are the people we were always meant to be. I wouldn’t be that if it weren’t for you.”

“I love you,” John said softly, “I just need you to know that.”

“I know,” Sherlock reassured him.

“I mean I really love you,” John said, drawing back slightly to look at Sherlock, “All of you, with every fiber of my being. With everything that I am, I love you.”

“I know, John,” Sherlock said softly with all the affection in the world. “I love you, too.”

John nodded and nestled his face into the crook between Sherlock’s neck and shoulder, pulling him close and begging without words for Sherlock to hold him just as tightly. Sherlock obliged as he always did, wrapping John in his arms and resting his cheek against the crown of John’s head.

They stood there together for some indeterminable amount of time until the water had run cold and still they clung to each other. Just as they always had and always would; through every storm that life threw at them, John and Sherlock would be there together, clinging to one another.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it darlings! I hope that you've enjoyed this little chapter. As ever, thank you for taking the time to read my little fics, it fills me with such joy. Blessings! <3


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